


A Good Man

by ThirtySomething



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySomething/pseuds/ThirtySomething
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta and Katniss work through the painful memories of his childhood as Katniss questions the role Peeta’s father had in his abuse. Submission for the 2014 Fandom4LLS compilation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Man

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you as always to my beta Melanie (soamazinghere) and to Mitchy (mitchesbcray) for prereading.
> 
> I do not own The Hunger Games.

I didn’t mean it.

I shouldn’t have said it.

Thinking it is one thing.  Saying it out loud is another.

_Part I - Denial_

A boy in the district died yesterday.  Apparently his mother was beating him in their kitchen, and he fell backwards and hit his head on the hard floor.  She brought him to the hospital, but he was already gone.  There was nothing they could do.

Sae told us the news this morning at breakfast, her voice low and sad.  I glanced over at Peeta, who looked as though he’d just seen a ghost.

“How – how old was he?” Peeta asked softly.

“Eleven.”

The boy was eleven.  The same age Peeta and I were nearly ten years ago, when he threw me the bread.

We sat silently until Haymitch cleared his throat, mumbling something about sending food over to the family’s house.  Sae nodded and started to put the dishes away, while Peeta excused himself quietly and got up from the table.

“Hey,” I called out, standing quickly and walking to the front door, where he was pulling on his jacket.  “Are you okay?”

He gave me a sad smile.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  I’m expecting a busy day at the bakery, so…I’ll see you later?”

I nodded as he placed a quick kiss on my forehead.  “Of course.  See you later.”

He walked away still smiling.  But I knew he wasn’t fine.

It looked like it was going to rain that day, so I opted to stay home instead of hunting.  I spent the morning tidying up, but grew restless after lunch, with both the young boy and Peeta on my mind.  I know I didn’t grow up with the perfect mother, but for all her faults, I know that she never would have physically hurt us.  Ever.

I took the memory book off the shelf and flipped through to Peeta’s mother’s page.  I hate to think ill of the dead, especially since she was Peeta’s mother…but staring at her sketch made my blood boil.  And then my eyes wandered to the right, to Peeta’s father’s page, and something unexpected happened…

I grew angrier.

_He did his best.  He was a good man._

After a list of memories – how he smelled, the sound of his laughter, his best recipes – these are the last words Peeta wrote about his father.  “He did his best,” I read out loud.  “He was a good man.”

Now, I’ll be one of the first to admit that the man was kind – his more-than-generous trades with me and Gale at his back door, along with his promise to keep Prim fed when I was reaped, are just two examples that show what a kind man he was at heart.

But…he allowed Peeta to get hurt.  He allowed his mother to beat him.

Didn’t he?

I paced around the house that afternoon, impatiently waiting for Peeta to come back from the bakery.  Looking back on it, I should have done something to distract myself – read, watch TV, tie knots, anything – but pacing and stewing in my growing anger seemed to be the only option at the time.

He came home and smiled at me, but I couldn’t return it.  He asked me what was wrong, and I asked him the question that had been plaguing me all afternoon.

“Did he know, Peeta?”

“Did who know what?” he asked.

I paused.

“Did your father know that your mother was beating you?”

His eyes grew wide and the color fled from his face.  “Katniss – why…why would you ask me this?”

I already regretted it…but I couldn’t take it back.  “It’s just, with today, and hearing about that boy – I was angry at your mother for years, but you had  _two_  parents, Peeta.  I just don’t understand how your father could ignore -”

“Okay, okay, stop.  You don’t know what you’re talking about, Katniss,” he said, stomping into the kitchen.  “My father was a good man!” he exclaimed, turning around to face me.  “He tried – I mean, she would hit him, too, you know, and he tried, but he couldn’t…”

My heart raced as I watched him pace around the kitchen, rubbing his temples and shutting his eyes tight.  It didn’t occur to me that this conversation would trigger an episode…I just wanted to know so badly…

“Peeta,” I began, slowly approaching him.  “Peeta, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, Peeta, can we sit down?”

He stopped pacing, stood up straight, and took in a deep breath, and I knew then that he had fought back the episode.  But my relief only lasted a short moment before he turned away from me and began to speak.

“Yes, he knew.  He knew.  But he couldn’t stop her.”

At this, I stopped breathing.

 _He knew_.

Peeta turned around to face me, but I couldn’t look at him with the anger growing inside me yet again.  I stepped back and closed my eyes, trying to will the feeling away, but it was useless.

“Katniss,” he continued, walking towards me, “I…I never blamed him.  He was a good man.  He did his best -”

“He did nothing, Peeta!  Nothing!”

I covered my mouth then, appalled at my outburst.

He didn’t look back as he walked out the door.

_Part II - Acceptance_

I hated myself after Peeta left. I couldn’t believe that I would risk causing him so much pain just because of my own stupid curiosity.

I am so selfish.

But this wasn’t about _me_ …it never was. This was about Peeta. I knew I had to do whatever I could to make things right.

I took the memory book back off the shelf and sat down at the kitchen table, flipping it open to the page with Peeta’s father. Recalling the last time I saw him, I wrote, very carefully:

_I’ll keep an eye on the little girl. Make sure she’s eating._

I stared at the lines and remembered that moment as if it were yesterday. I can still feel how my chest lightened at his words; just when I thought I was leaving my sister to live a life of hunger, this man reassured me that he wouldn’t let that happen. That she wouldn’t starve.

 _He was a good man_.

Taking the book, I left the house and headed for the bakery, knowing there was a good chance Peeta would be there. Sure enough, he was sitting outside on the front steps, head down and hands clasped together tightly. I approached slowly, mentally preparing myself for whatever feelings of anger or frustration he would direct at me. But once our eyes met, to my complete surprise, he gave me a small smile.

“Hey,” I said hesitantly.

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry,” we both uttered at the same time. I smiled sadly and shook my head as I sat down next to him. “Peeta, you have _nothing_ to apologize for. I’m so sorry for what I said.”

He sighed and placed his arm around my waist, pulling me in closer to him. I leaned in and rested my head on his shoulder, and we sat there wordlessly for a few minutes, listening to the soft sound of the fall breeze.

“Why did you bring the memory book?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Oh,” I said, sitting up. “I added something…”

I flipped open to his father’s page and handed it to him. “These were the last words he spoke to me.”

Peeta read the lines I’d added and smiled faintly. “Thank you, Katniss.”

“He _was_ a good man, Peeta,” I began, placing my hand on his cheek. “He’s the reason you have such a good heart and kind spirit. I’m sure of it.”

He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “But you weren’t wrong earlier. He never…he never _did_ anything to stop it.”

He turned his head to face the street, closing his eyes tightly as if he were trying to search for some long forgotten memory. “I remember this one time,” he began quietly, “I was eight years old, and working at the bakery. My mother was in a particularly terrible mood that day. I dropped something - a hot cookie I think - and she came over and slapped me. When I came to my senses and looked up, I saw my father standing outside, looking in through the back door.”

I reached for his hand and held it tight, and he opened his eyes and looked at me. I could see tears forming and my heart began to ache. “He didn’t do anything, Katniss. _Nothing_. He just stood there.”

He blinked then, letting the tears fall, and he wrapped his arms around me as he began to sob. I hugged him tightly, rubbing his back and fighting back my own tears, but the image of an eight-year-old Peeta appeared in my head. Sad. Helpless.

So I let myself cry with him.

And then it began to rain.

_Part III - Healing_

The rain that fell seemed to be in tune with Peeta’s crying – it started off slowly, then began to downpour as Peeta released his loudest sobs. When he finally exhausted himself, I told him we should stay at the bakery that night instead of making the trek back home.

I prepared a small meal in the backroom of the bakery while Peeta stared at the memory book. He stayed on his father’s page at first, but then turned the page and spent some time looking at his brothers’. I realized then that I still had so many questions – were his brothers abused as well? Did they know what was happening to Peeta? Why didn’t any of them confront their father?

Of course, I had done enough damage that day, so I decided that my curiosity was better off left on a shelf forever rather than putting Peeta through any more pain.

We ate in silence and eventually went up to the bedroom. The bed in the bakery was smaller than the one at home, but that night, it seemed to work out for the best. Peeta held onto me tighter than he normally did, and still whimpered from time to time even after he fell asleep. I soon followed, trying to picture a happy little boy with blonde hair and bright blue eyes; a boy that baked and played and knew nothing of anger or abuse.

I couldn’t have been asleep for too long when I felt Peeta stir behind me. I turned over to face him and saw that he was staring at his right hand. “Peeta? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he began, rubbing the back of his hand. “This is where she first hit me,” he said, pointing to the back of his hand. “I was reaching for a fresh roll and she hit me really hard with a wooden spoon.”

I frowned and sat up, taking his hand and kissing the spot gently.

“Where else?”

There was a hint of a smile on his face as he pointed to his right cheek, then his left cheek. I leaned down and kissed both cheeks slowly before I sat back up again. “And?”

He thought for a moment, then sat up to face me. “There were a few times when she would try to hit me with a rolling pin, so I would put my arms up like this to protect myself,” he said, lifting up his forearms. “These spots would get the grunt of it.”

I leaned in and kissed his arms, then yelped in surprise when he lifted me up and sat me down in his lap. He wrapped his arms around my back and rested his head under my neck, then breathed deeply when I began to run my hands through his hair.

“Thank you, Katniss.”

“For what?”

“For being here,” he whispered.

I kissed the top of his head and he tightened his embrace. “This is the only place I want to be, Peeta. Here. With you.”

He lifted his head and smiled. It was the first real smile I’d seen from him all day. “You really think…” he mumbled, “I mean, I _am_ good, right? And that _has_ to come from him, right?”

“From him, yes,” I answered, nodding, “But it’s from _you_ , too. I think you learned the hard way how _not_ to treat people, and you were made better for it. You are a _good_ man, Peeta Mellark.”

His smile returned and he tipped his head up to kiss me. We kissed for a few minutes before falling back onto the bed, and sleep reclaimed us both as we held each other tight.

_Part IV – Forgiveness_

“Peeta, whatever you’re baking smells delicious.”

“Cinnamon rolls,” he replied, grinning. “My dad’s recipe.”

I woke to an empty bed and to the rich smell of cinnamon drifting up from the bakery. Once I made it downstairs, I saw Peeta already covered in flour…and he was smiling.

He came closer and kissed me, and I reached up and wiped some flour off his cheek. “Well, when will they be ready? I’m starving.”

“Soon enough,” he laughed, returning to the counter. “But listen, I wanted to run something by you.”

I sat across from him and watched eagerly as he prepared a pot of hot cocoa. “So, you know how there’s no real sign out front yet?”

I nodded. Peeta had painted a simple “BAKERY” sign above the door when it first opened, and it didn’t seem necessary to do any more than that since then. It was, after all, the only bakery in District 12.

“Well,” he continued, “I was thinking of making a real sign. ‘Mellark & Sons’. What do you think?”

I smiled. “I think that’s a great idea.”

He beamed, and despite the dark circles under his eyes, he looked calm and refreshed – as if he’d just let go of a fifteen-year burden. “And I was thinking of painting something for the wall near the window, maybe a family portrait of my dad with me and my brothers.”

Nodding, I reached over and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “It all sounds wonderful, Peeta.”

“I just…I just don’t want to forget,” he began, “No matter what they did, or didn’t do – my dad and my brothers – they were my family. I know that they loved me. And I don’t want to forget.”

I got up and walked over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “You won’t. They were your family and they loved you. You won’t forget, I promise.”

He nodded wordlessly and kissed me until the oven timer went off. “Your breakfast is ready,” he smirked. “Are you ready to try the greatest cinnamon rolls you’ve ever had?”

I laughed. “They’re _that_ good?”

Peeta grinned. “They’re the best. It’s my dad’s recipe, after all.”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Come play with me on tumblr - lifeisshiny


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